


Awake

by Minkey222



Series: Peter. P vents [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, This is a vent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 07:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19988638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minkey222/pseuds/Minkey222
Summary: His phone buzzed.Buzzed again.And again.And again.And again-Peter pushed himself up. Hesitant to pick up the phone, already anticipating the messages that would await him.His clock said 3 AM. Bold, red numbers.Oof.





	Awake

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vent lol. Don't mind me.

His phone buzzed.

Buzzed again.

And again.

And again.

And again-

Peter pushed himself up. Hesitant to pick up the phone, already anticipating the messages that would await him. 

His clock said 3 AM. Bold, red numbers. 

Oof.

Peter lay back. Looking up. 

Rolled over.

Breathe.

In.

  
Out.

In.

Eyelids fluttering. 

Out.

Out.

Out.

His phone buzzed once more.

“I want to die,”

Oof.

The exhaustion weighed heavy in his bones. He didn’t have the energy to answer the message (he does anyway). 

The light from his phone highlights his face, the room an empty, dark space around him, the silver lines on his arms move as he types. 

His forehead creases.

He knows that he should be sleeping and that he’ll be tired tomorrow morning (but he’s always tired these days) but he just can’t ignore the messages. 

He can’t put down the phone. 

He can’t say no.

He can never say no. 

(that’s always the problem isn’t it)

Peter feels like he has these conversations on lock now, has the script down to a tee. 

_...I’m going to kill myself _

_ No, don’t do that… _

Peter feels that it’s a little ironic that he’s the one giving this advice and yet he never follows it.

He should feel more panicked like he did the first couple times, but now, all he feels is numb. 

And tired.

(he feels so awful that he feels more inconvenience than anything)

He’s been through this tumult of emotions and series of events so many times that it almost feels rehearsed. But every time he goes through the motions he feels more and more weighed down.

_ … I don’t think I can do this anymore _

_ You have so much left to live for… _

God, with the number of times that Peter has lain awake at night eyeing a bottle of pills- a knife- a rope he feels like a hypocrite.

He never talks to anyone though.

He’s never thought to message someone in the dead of night instead choosing to just be in complete silence and letting the waves of despair wash over him.

He knows what a stress it puts on the person receiving the messages. He couldn’t put anyone through that.

But he needs to be here for his friends, support them, put all their energy into supporting them.

If he can take on some of their burdens then he’ll his hardest to carry it.

(he’s already lagging under his own burden)

And it might as well be him they talk to, someone who has already been through this before, he’s practically a pro. Like he said he has the script down to a tee.

(he worries that one day he’ll run out of things to say)

_ … I just feel so alone _

_ You know you can always talk to me… _

And that’s the thing. He can’t complain because he invites this conversation, he would rather someone wake him up than suffer in silence because their life is worth more than his ( _ life _ ) sleep.

They’re always worth more than he is.

(so what if there are another couple lines on his wrist just so he can cope with it)

It’s 5 am by the time he’s calmed them down and sent them to sleep, safe and  _ alive _ and out of trouble for now.

His heart hurts, his lungs sting and his eyes are dry.

The bags under his eyes speak more than any word he’s ever said.

He rolls over, the sky starting to lighten through his curtain.

He sinks into the bed.

His eyes burn when he shuts them.

He breathes out.

He has a Spanish test first thing tomorrow morning.

Oh well.


End file.
